


Fly the Friendly Skies

by colonel_bastard



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mile High Club, Quiet Sex, Tight Spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom leans in until his lips brush against Chris's ear. </p>
<p>"I've always wanted to join the Mile High Club."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly the Friendly Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a lovely anon! I posted a list of kink prompts and they picked claustrophilia, which meant I had to write a fic where the characters had sex in a confined/small space. As I wracked my brain not only for a confined space but also for a reason to have sex in one, I suddenly realized that it was obvious: they were gonna bang in an airplane bathroom. Thank you, lovely anon, for choosing Hiddlesworth as your pairing— I've had a major jones for these guys lately!
> 
> Oh, and as for the time and setting, I figure they're just on some random press tour or something. And it's a private jet because I didn't want to have to deal with the logistics of having other passengers around. Fewer distractions, more porn, am I right? Of course I'm right.

At first, Chris has no idea why Tom is being so _insistent_ with the flight attendant. 

“We’re all right for now,” Tom assures her, putting on his most charming smile. “In fact I think we’re both going to try for a bit of sleep. We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

The attendant nods and smiles and wishes them both a good night. It’s seven and a half hours from London to New York, and they’re expected to step off this jet in the morning with smiles on their faces. They need all the sleep they can get. 

Chris is actually naive enough to believe that that’s what Tom had in mind when he sent her away. Instead, after ten minutes of Tom leaning out of his seat to stare up the aisle at the galley, he suddenly turns on Chris with a feral grin. 

“She’s been reading for ages, I think she’s settled down.” 

When Tom tosses his head, Chris follows his indication to look towards the front of the plane. The privacy curtains are drawn, but there’s still a ribbon-thin gap between them through which he can see the flight attendant strapped into the jump seat, her attention riveted on a paperback novel propped on her knee. 

“Yeah,” Chris remarks. “Guess she’s used to long flights like this.” 

Swiftly and silently, Tom unbuckles his seatbelt and crosses the aisle between them in one long stride. He leans in until his lips brush against Chris’s ear. 

“I’ve always wanted to join the Mile High Club.” 

Chris almost yelps when Tom’s hand suddenly darts down between his legs and squeezes. He grabs Tom’s wrist and looks up at him in astonishment, only to be greeted by a facial expression that’s one part mischief to three parts pure carnal intent. 

“Two minutes,” Tom purrs, and Chris manages a giddy nod in response.

It’s the longest two minutes of his life. Chris squirms and fidgets in his seat, his eyes glued to his watch when he’s not too busy checking and double-checking to make sure that the flight attendant isn’t going anywhere. He doesn’t want to be too conspicuous by leaning out to check the gap in the curtains, but the partition stops just about ankle level so he can stare at her feet instead. They don’t move once in the whole hundred-and-twenty second span. That’s good enough for him. 

The lavatory is unlocked. He pushes it open and twists inside as quickly as he can, shoving it closed again and snapping the lock into place. When he turns around, he sees that Tom is seated on the closed toilet lid, his legs spread wide to make room for Chris between them. 

“Come here,” Tom growls, grabbing Chris by the hips and tugging him closer so he can undo his belt and open his jeans, yanking them down to free his cock. He hums in approval when he sees that Chris is already hard. The prospect of joining the Mile High Club tends to have that effect on a man. 

“Now,” says Tom, licking his lips. “The key is to be as quiet as possible.” He looks up at Chris and winks. “And I’m not going to make it easy, darling.” 

Before Chris even has a chance to take a breath, Tom pounces, taking as much of Chris into his mouth as he can manage. Chris unleashes a sharp, clipped hiss, one hand jammed knuckles-first into his mouth, the other digging into Tom’s hair and grabbing a handful to hold on. He tries not to lean back against the flimsy bathroom door, knowing that it would bang and rattle if he bounced into it. Tom licks and sucks with gusto, his hands sliding around to grab Chris’s ass, his eyes looking up at every opportunity. 

Soon enough Chris has both hands fisted in Tom’s hair, his teeth gritted and every inch of willpower going into the effort to stay silent. When he can’t take it anymore, he pulls himself free of Tom’s mouth and drags him up to his feet to kiss him aggressively, pressing against him with such force that Tom almost falls right back onto the toilet lid again. 

The space would be cramped enough for two people of average size, but they’re both well over six feet tall. They jostle together as Chris tries to turn them around, struggling not to laugh out loud between deep, hungry kisses. At one point Chris reaches blindly for the edge of the sink for some purchase, but he grabs the soap dispenser instead, sending a jet of pale blue foam spurting across the stainless steel countertop. Then Tom is shaking with silent laughter while Chris presses a finger against his lips and giggles, “ _shhh, shhh!_ ”

Finally Chris manages to get their positions reversed, and he tugs up his jeans just enough so that his bare ass doesn’t have to touch the toilet lid when he sits down. Tom’s trousers are tented at the front, but Chris doesn’t release him just yet. Instead he grabs him by the hip pockets and holds him steady while he nuzzles his face against his clothed erection, batting away all of Tom’s eager attempts to get his pants down. 

“The key is to stay quiet,” he stage-whispers, and Tom gives a stifled groan of delighted frustration. 

Chris takes his time with the torment, knowing how much Tom loves to be teased. The only trouble is that it’s torture for him, too— and Chris doesn’t like to wait. He forces himself to keep going until he’s got Tom stamping his feet and whining in desperation, then he relents. He unbuttons, unzips, and fastens his mouth onto Tom’s cock before it even has time to get cold. 

“ _Ahhhh,_ ” Tom breathes, rising onto his toes, his head falling back in bliss. 

Chris services him with both his mouth and his hands, determined not to make it easy for _him_ to stay quiet, either. Tom’s got his arms thrown out to either side to brace himself, and though one hand is pressed against the wall, the other is palm-flat against the surface of the mirror over the sink. Chris hopes he doesn’t press too hard— he knows that Tom is more than strong enough to crack the glass if he should get too lost in his passion. As he works, he keeps stealing glances up at Tom’s face, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open and gasping. 

And maybe Chris gets a little _too_ into it, because a particularly rough pinch makes Tom kick his foot in a helpless spasm, his heel banging into the rickety door with enough force to make them both freeze in terror. They’re paralyzed for what seems like hours, Chris with his face buried against Tom’s stomach and Tom with his arms wrapped around Chris’s head. They stay as still as they can, breathing hard, waiting for the knock on the door. It never comes. 

They never really agree to continue. They just wait a while, and when no interruption occurs, Chris gets up to his feet and twists Tom so he can shove him against the bathroom wall. 

“Clearly you can’t be trusted next to the door,” he murmurs against the side of his neck. 

“Obviously not,” Tom breathes, one hand sneaking down between them to take hold of Chris’s cock. 

Chris reaches down to grab Tom in answer, and together they start coaxing each other towards climax. If Tom pushes him back then Chris’s ass is going to wind up in the sink, so to compensate he makes sure to keep Tom pinned right where he is, leaning on him with all his weight. He uses his knee to urge Tom’s legs open so he can press flush against him, their cocks grinding together while they clench their teeth against the urge to make noise. Tom uses his free hand to grab Chris’s ass and drag him closer. Chris uses his to reach up and gather a fistful of Tom’s hair. He tugs and Tom jolts like he’s touched a live electrical socket. He yanks harder and Tom cracks his skull back against the wall. 

“Stop!” He gasps. “Stop, stop, you’re gonna make me scream.”

“We wouldn’t want that now,” Chris nuzzles the crook of his neck. “Would we?” 

He bites him instead, an act that causes Tom’s body to buck and shudder and his hand to constrict— he has the presence of mind to jerk hard and fast and then Chris comes, burying his face against Tom’s shoulder to muffle his groan of release. For a moment he can’t do anything but lean there, Tom’s breath hot and heavy in his ear. 

“Welcome to the Mile High Club,” Tom whispers, and Chris gives a throaty chuckle.

Then he tightens his grip until Tom goes “ _mmf!_ ”, his long legs buckling and his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. It doesn’t take long before Chris can feel his body tensing, his muscles coiling, the pressure reaching its limit. 

He doesn’t trust Tom not to make noise when he comes, so he claps a hand roughly over his mouth to silence him. Tom fucking _loves_ it, reaching up to grab hold of his wrist and pin it there until he climaxes a moment later. Chris’s instincts were right— he ends up stifling a cry that would have been heard all the way up in the cockpit. Chris kisses him even as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Two for one membership deal,” he whispers. “We’re both in the Club now.” 

Beaming with pride, Tom threads his fingers into Chris’s hair and kisses him adoringly, their legs and arms entwined. They’re in the middle of a particularly passionate stretch when they end up sliding into the door, which rattles on impact. They separate with a mutual guilty start. 

“I think we should—” Tom says. 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees hastily. “I should probably—”

“Oh!” Tom cracks up. “Before you go, you might want to—”

He grabs a handful of paper towels and indicates Chris’s come-splattered stomach and groin. They’re in such close quarters that there’s not enough room for Chris to clean himself off without Tom sitting back down on the lid of the toilet to give him space. He stuffs the evidence deep down into the trash bin when he’s done. 

“You go first,” Tom says. “I’ll be along in a minute or so.” 

“Hey,” Chris says, tousling his hair. “This was a _great_ idea.”

Tom slaps his ass as he exits the lavatory. Chris slinks back to his seat, buckles himself in, and tries not to look as suspicious as he feels. As far as he can tell, the flight attendant hasn’t moved at all. Must be a hell of a book. 

A minute later, Tom comes swaggering up the aisle looking incredibly smug. So much for not looking suspicious. He stops at Chris’s seat just long enough to lean down and steal a swift, secret kiss. Then he’s safely back across the aisle and fastening his seatbelt. Once he’s settled in, he raises his arms overhead in a long, luxurious stretch. 

“You know,” he remarks. “The flight from New York to LA is five and a half hours.”

Chris smirks as he reclines his seat for the night. 

“Plenty of time,” he says. “For pros like us.” 

Tom blows him a kiss across the aisle. Chris throws him a wink in response. 

And when they step off the jet in the morning, they have smiles on their faces. 

 

 

 

________end.


End file.
